by Wilbur Smith
That evening, as they sat around the campfire, Loikot tried to keep up their flagging enthusiasm. ‘I tell you, M’bogo, these two are the paramount chieftains of all the lions in the valley. There are no others greater, fiercer or more cunning. These are the ones that Kichwa Muzuru has sent us to find.’
Manyoro hawked and spat in the fire, then watched the slug of his phlegm boil and bubble in the flames before he gave his opinion. ‘For many days I have listened to this story of yours, Loikot. There is one part of it that I have come to believe, that these lions you speak of can change their shape to birds. That is what they must have done. They have become little sparrows and flown away. I think we should leave these bird-lions, and go up to Marsabit to find a real one.’
Affronted, Loikot folded his arms across his chest and stared at Manyoro loftily. ‘I tell you, I have seen them with my own eyes. They are here. If we stay we will find them.’ They looked at Leon for a decision.
While he drained the coffee in his mug and flicked the grounds into the fire, Leon considered the choice. They were already low on fuel for the Bumble Bee and had enough for only a day or two more. If they moved up to the north, they would need to transport more supplies by road. That would take many more days, and Graf Otto was not a patient man. ‘One more day, Loikot.’ He made the decision. ‘Find those beasts of yours tomorrow or we leave them and go up to Marsabit.’
They took off before sunrise and resumed the search at the point where they had left off the previous evening. An hour later and twenty miles out from the airstrip at Percy’s Camp, Leon picked out an enormous herd of buffalo streaming back across the savannah from the lake shore where they had drunk. There must have been more than a thousand animals. The big bulls were bunched up in the vanguard, with the cows, calves and younger beasts strung out over almost a mile of grassland behind them. He banked towards them. He knew that lion prides often followed such large herds to pick off the weaklings and stragglers.
Suddenly in the front of the cockpit Loikot was making agitated hand signals, and Leon leaned forward to see what had excited him. A pair of buffalo had become separated from the main herd, and were trailing a quarter of a mile or so behind it. They were crossing a glade of long golden grass, walking side by side. Only their backs were visible above the grass, and from this Leon judged that they were bulls, heavy and black in the body, but young, and he wondered why Loikot was making such a fuss about them.
Then, as he studied them, the pair emerged from the long grass into shorter, more open pasture, and Leon felt every nerve in his body snap tight. They were not buffalo but lions. Never before had he seen lions of that size or colour. The early-morning sun was behind them, highlighting their regal, stately progress. Their manes were deepest Stygian black and shaggy as haystacks, ruffling in the breeze as they stopped to stare up at the approaching aircraft.
Leon throttled back the engines and let the Bumble Bee drop until her landing wheels were skimming the ground. As he headed straight towards the lions, they swelled out their manes and swung their long black-tufted tails against their flanks in mounting agitation. One sank down and flattened himself in the short grass while the other spun around and broke into a weighty, swinging trot, heading for a patch of dense bush on the verge of the open ground. Leon passed low over the crouching animal and looked down into its implacable yellow stare. Then he was roaring down on the second. As it heard the aircraft approaching, it broke into a gallop, maned shoulders driving and belly swinging, filled with the meat of its kill. Once again it turned its great maned head to snarl up at Leon as he flashed over.
Leon put the aircraft into a gentle climb, and turned towards the landing strip below the camp. It would take twenty minutes’ flying time, but he needed to land so that he could discuss a plan of action with the two Masai. Manyoro seemed to have forgotten his earlier opposition to continuing the search, and was stamping and laughing with as much wild abandon as Loikot.
‘Those lions are good reason for such joy. Graf Otto von Meer-bach, you had better sharpen your assegai. You’re going to need it.’ Leon laughed into the wind. He was sorely tempted to turn back for one more look at those magnificent animals. However, he knew it would be unwise to disturb them again. If they were as cunning and wary as Loikot had said, he might easily drive them from the grassy savannah into the forests of the escarpment where they would be much more difficult to come at.
Let them be, he decided. Let them settle down until I can get mad von Meerbach here to deal with them.
As Leon touched down and let the Bumble Bee roll out on the airstrip below Percy’s Camp, the two Masai were still celebrating the find. When he cut the engines, Loikot shouted joyously, ‘Did I tell you, Manyoro?’ and answered himself immediately: ‘Yes, I told you! But did you believe me, Manyoro? No, you did not! Of the two of us, who is the stupid and stubborn one? Is it me, Manyoro? No, it is not! Which of us is the great hunter and finder of lions? Is it you, Manyoro? No, it is Loikot!’ He adopted a noble and heroic pose, while Manyoro covered his face with his hands in mock-chagrin.
‘You are the greatest tracker in Africa and surpassingly beautiful, Loikot,’ Leon interrupted, ‘but now I have work for you. You must return to your lions and stay with them until I can bring Kichwa Muzuru for the hunt. You must follow them closely, but not so closely that you alarm them and scare them away.’
‘I know those lions. They will not elude me,’ Loikot vowed. ‘I have them in my eye.’
‘When I return and you hear the sound of the engines, you must light a smudge fire. The smoke will guide me to you.’
‘I will have the lions in my eye, and the sound of your engines in my ear,’ Loikot boasted.
Leon turned to Manyoro, ‘Who is the chief of the area in which we found the lions today?’
‘His name is Massana and his manyatta is at Tembu Kikuu, the Place of the Great Elephant.’
‘You must go to him, Manyoro. Tell him there is a bounty of twenty cattle on each of his lions. But tell him that we will bring him a mzungu who will hunt them in the traditional way. Massana must bring together fifty of his morani for the hunt, but the killing will be done by Kichwa Muzuru alone.’
‘I understand, M’bogo, but I do not think Massana will understand. A mzungu hunting a lion with the assegai? It has never been heard of before. Massana will think Kichwa Muzuru is mad.’
‘Manyoro, you and I know that Kichwa Muzuru is indeed as crazy as the wildebeest with snot worms in his brain. But tell Massana not to worry too much about the condition of Kichwa Muzuru’s head. Tell him to consider rather the twenty head of cattle. What do you think, Manyoro? Will Massana help us with the hunt?’
‘For twenty head of cattle Massana would sell all his fifteen wives and their daughters, perhaps his own mother as well. Of course he will help us.’
‘Is there a place close to his manyatta where I can land the aeroplane?’ Leon asked.
Manyoro picked his nose thoughtfully before he replied. ‘There is a dry salt pan close to the village. It is flat and without trees.’
‘Show it to me,’ Leon ordered. They took off again and Manyoro guided him towards it. It was a huge expanse, flat and glaring white, clearly visible from many miles out. As they drew closer a small herd of oryx galloped across it, and Leon saw with relief that their hoofs did not break through the white crust. Some such pans were death traps: often deep, sinking mud, soft as oatmeal porridge and sticky as glue, was concealed beneath the fragile crust. He put the Bumble Bee down gingerly, letting the wheels just touch the surface, prepared to lift her off again if he felt mud grab the undercarriage. When the surface supported her weight he let her settle. He taxied to the edge of the pan, and turned the plane. But he did not shut down the engines. ‘How far is it to the manyatta from here?’ he shouted at Manyoro above the din.
‘It is close.’ Manyoro pointed ahead. ‘Some of the villagers are coming already.’ A small group of women and children were running towards them through the trees
.
‘And how far to where we left the lions, O great hunter?’ Leon demanded of Loikot. With his spear he pointed out a small segment of the sky, indicating two hours’ passage of the sun. ‘Good. So, here you are close to the manyatta and the lions. I will leave both of you. Watch for my return. When I come back I will have Kichwa Muzuru with me.’
Leon left the two Masai on the salt and took off again. He circled the pan once before heading back to Nairobi. The Masai waved at him and then he saw them separate: Loikot trotted away to pick up the tracks of the lions, and Manyoro went to meet the women from Massana’s village.
As Leon made the initial approach to the Nairobi polo ground he looked out anxiously for the Butterfly. He was worried that Graf Otto might have taken off on another of his mysterious, unpredictable jaunts into the blue and would not reappear for many days, by which time Loikot might have lost contact with the quarry.
‘Thank the Lord for that!’ he exclaimed, as he made out the gaudy scarlet and black shape of the Butterfly parked in front of the hangar at the far end of the field. Gustav and his assistants were working on her engines. However, there was no sign of the hunting car, so instead of landing he circled out over Tandala Camp and found it parked outside Graf Otto’s private quarters. Leon made another pass over the camp and the Graf emerged from his tent, shrugging on a shirt over his naked torso.
Leon felt a sharp pang of jealousy and resentment. Of course he has Eva in there with him, he thought. She has to earn her keep. The idea made him feel sick. Graf Otto gave him a perfunctory wave, then went to the hunting car. Leon turned the Bumble Bee back towards the polo ground, but the taste of anger and jealousy were strong and rank on the back of his tongue.
Pull yourself together, Courtney! You know that Eva von Well-berg isn’t a vestal virgin. She’s been under the same mosquito net as him every night since they arrived, he told himself, as he lined up for the landing. As he side-slipped the Bumble Bee in over the boundary fence, his heart bounded as he saw her sitting at her easel in the shade of the Butterfly’s chequered wing. Until that moment she had been hidden from him by the fuselage. It seemed ridiculous, but he was relieved to know that Graf Otto had been alone in the private quarters.
As he set the aircraft down and taxied towards the hangar, Eva jumped up from her easel and started impulsively towards him. Even at this distance he could see the eagerness in her smile. Then she seemed to realize that Gustav was watching, checked herself and came on at a more demure pace. She hung back as he placed the boarding ladder against the fuselage, and Leon swarmed down it. He glanced at her over the heads of the other men, and saw that she was flustered and nervous. He was accustomed to her always being poised and cool, but now she was like a gazelle with the scent of a hunting leopard in its nostrils. Her agitation affected him, but he was able to hide his feelings sufficiently to nod casually at her. ‘Good day, Fräulein,’ he said politely, then turned to Gustav. ‘The starboard number-two engine’s running rough and blowing blue exhaust smoke.’
‘I’ll check it at once,’ Gustav said, and shouted to his assistants.
When his head disappeared into the engine cowling, Leon and Eva were alone. ‘Something has happened to you - something’s changed,’ he told her softly. ‘You’re different, Eva.’
‘And you’re perceptive. Everything’s changed.’
‘What is it? Has there been trouble with Graf Otto?’
‘Not with him. This is between you and me.’
‘Trouble?’ he stared at her.
‘Not trouble. The very opposite. I have made a decision.’ Her voice was low and husky, but then she smiled.
Her smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.
‘Nor do I, Badger.’
Her use of that name was too much for him. He took a step towards her, and reached out a hand. She recoiled sharply. ‘No, don’t touch me. I can’t trust myself not to do something stupid.’ She indicated the dust thrown up by the hunting car as it drove towards them. ‘Otto is coming. We must be careful.’
‘I cannot go on like this much longer,’ he warned her.
‘Neither can I,’ she replied. ‘But for now we must keep away from each other. Otto is no fool. He will see that something has happened between us.’ She turned away and went to where Gustav was balanced on a wing, peering into the engine housing.
As he drove the hunting car in through the gate of the boundary fence, Graf Otto called, ‘So you are back, Courtney. You have been gone long enough. Where were you? Cape Town? Cairo?’
The brief exchange with Eva had left Leon in an ebullient and reckless mood. ‘No, sir. I was looking for your bloody lion.’
Graf Otto saw Leon’s elation and his own face lit up, his duelling scar turning pink with anticipation. He jumped out and slammed the door behind him. ‘Did you find it?’
‘I wouldn’t have come back if I hadn’t.’
‘Is he a big one?’
‘He’s the biggest lion I’ve ever seen, and the other is even bigger.’
‘I don’t understand. How many lions are there?’
‘Two,’ said Leon. ‘Two enormous brutes.’
‘When can we leave to go after them?’
‘As soon as Gustav has checked the engine of the Bumble Bee.’
‘I can’t wait that long. The Butterfly’s tanks are full, all our gear is loaded and she is ready to go. We will leave now! At once!’
Graf Otto was at the controls of the Butterfly as they took off from the Percy’s Camp airstrip, where they had stopped to refuel after the flight in from Nairobi. He headed southwest towards the manyatta of Massana. Eva sat beside him, Ishmael squatted on the deck with his precious kitchen bundle, while Leon, Gustav and Hennie were bunched at the front of the cockpit.
They had been flying for little more than twenty-five minutes when Leon spotted a feather of smoke on their port quarter, rising straight into the still, breathless heat of midday. ‘Loikot!’ Leon knew it was him, even before he made out the slim figure standing beside the smudge fire. Loikot flapped his shuka to ensure that they had seen him, then pointed with his spear towards the jagged outline of a small kopje not far ahead. He was indicating the whereabouts of the quarry.
Swiftly Leon assessed the changed situation. The gods of the chase had been kind to them. During his absence the lions must have headed in the direction of Massana’s manyatta. They were now many miles closer to it than they had been when they had first spotted them. He looked at the distant escarpment of the Rift to orientate himself, then picked out the ghostly shape of the salt pan where he had left the two Masai only three days ago. It lay almost equidistant between the manyatta and the kopje where the lions were now lying up. Couldn’t be better, he exulted, and moved back quickly to where he could talk to Graf Otto above the engines. ‘Loikot signalled that the lions are lying up among the rocks on that hillock.’
‘Where is the nearest place I can land?’
‘Can you see that salt pan?’ Leon pointed it out. ‘If you put us down there, we’ll be close to the quarry and to the village where the morani are assembling for the hunt.’
Massana’s manyatta was larger than most others in the valley. A hundred or more large huts were laid out in a wide circle around the cattle pen. Graf Otto circled the settlement at low level. A dark mass of humanity had gathered in the central cattle pen. Although Leon could not pick out Manyoro in the press of shuka-clad figures, he had done his job, and prevailed on Massana to assemble his morani for the great hunt. Satisfied that all was in readiness for them, Leon asked Graf Otto to turn the Butterfly towards the salt pan. He landed and taxied to the treeline along its western edge before he shut down the engines.
‘We will be camping here for a while,’ Leon told him, ‘so we can make ourselves comfortable before the morani arrive.’ All the equipment for a fly camp was packed into the cargo hold of the Butterfly. It did not take Leon long to set it up. He sited the tents in the sha
de beneath the aircraft’s wings. Ishmael built his kitchen and cooking fire at a safe distance from the aircraft and was soon serving coffee and ginger snaps.
Leon drained his mug, then looked up at the sky to judge the time. ‘Loikot will be here any minute now,’ he told Graf Otto, and had barely finished the sentence when Loikot trotted out from among the trees.
Leon left the shade and walked into the sunlight to greet him. He was desperately eager to hear Loikot’s report, but he knew Loikot could not be hurried. The more portentous his tidings, the longer Loikot took to divulge them. First he took a little snuff, standing on one leg and leaning on his spear. Then they agreed that it had been three days since they had last seen each other, a long time, that the weather was hot for this season of the year, and that it would probably rain before sunset, which would be good for the grazing.
‘So, Loikot, mighty hunter and intrepid tracker, what of your lions? Do you still have them in your eye?’
Loikot shook his head lugubriously.
‘You have lost them?’ Leon asked angrily. ‘You have let them escape?’
‘No! It is true that the smallest lion has disappeared but I still have the largest one in my eye. I saw him no more than two hours ago. He is alone, still lying up from the heat on top of the hillock I pointed out to you earlier.’
‘We should not bewail the disappearance of the other,’ Leon consoled him. ‘One lion on his own will be easier to work with. Two together might be one too many.’
‘Where is Manyoro?’ Loikot asked.
‘After we left you we flew over the manyatta of Massana. The morani hunters were gathered there, but they must already be on their way to join us. The manyatta is not far off. They will be here soon.’